Scared Stiff
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: Post Deliverance, focused on Tony's potential reaction to Ziva's violent tendencies. Naughty Tiva time.


Disclaimer: I ordered it days ago, but it has not yet arrived.

Spoilers: Post-_Deliverance_ spoileration, with a few nitpicky ones from season 6, and a not-so-nitpicky one from _Cloak_.

Summary: Little Tony has a mind of his own. The title isn't a double entendre so much as a big glaring obviousity – which is not even a word, but that's what it is. Mmm, Guinness. Okay, there's none of that in the fic, but there is Tiva. Naughty Tiva.

* * *

The first time Tony had noticed he was having an unexpected reaction to threats of violence, he was watching from Observation as Ziva interrogated a suspect shortly after he'd returned from his God-awful time at sea. The first twitch had occurred when she'd raised her voice. By the time the yelling had progressed to leaning threateningly over the table and collar-yanking, he'd been pressed so tightly against the window that even McGee had noticed.

"Um, Tony?"

"What?"

"Aren't you, um…are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm just trying to make sure I catch all the details."

"We do have the interrogation on tape, you know."

"Well, sure, but…you don't get the same, uh, vibes from the recording. I just wanna be sure I'm not missing the subtle postural and tonal cues that a seasoned agent knows to look for in every…"

McGee thankfully cut him off with an annoyed wave of his hand. "Whatever, Tony."

Tony hadn't stepped back until he was sure everything below the belt had settled down, which hadn't happened until the suspect had been escorted to a holding cell in tears. At the time, he'd chalked it up to the fact that he'd been at sea too long and she'd been wearing tight pants. Nothing wrong with enjoying a rear view of an angry hottie in tight pants…

The second time had been slightly more problematic. Waking up to find the SecNav laughing at the very respectable lump in your pants was embarrassing enough, but to make the connection that it was linked the dream you were enjoying about your ass-kicking partner's ass-kicking tendencies… Spying on a round of her sparring with some of the braver (or stupider) and subsequently severely bruised probies in the gym confirmed that the visions of her beating up armed Marines weren't going to be leaving his store of personal fantasies anytime soon.

He'd tried watching some of the tougher Bond girls, _Xena: Warrior Princess_, _Alias_, and _Charlie's Angels_ – both the series and the movies – to see if he had the same response to any women kicking ass but found that it was apparently limited to Ziva. Now every time she pulled her SIG, raised her fist or whipped out her knife, he had to look away, and even _that_ was no guarantee.

Today had started out all right – until Gibbs had decided to send them to a firing range. It was really too much to ask that Ziva keep her hands off the toys when there was so much live fire happening in a controlled environment, but Tony had been sorely tempted to do just that. Luckily, he'd been able to hold his coat in front of his body on the way out and had achieved a state of Zen calm by thinking about baseball by the time they arrived at the car. He'd given a noncommittal grunt when she asked him what he thought about their interview with the staff sergeant. No need to tempt fate by thinking about the single shot she'd taken to… "Hey, you wanna drive back?" He'd been able to keep his coat safely in his lap for the ride back to NCIS.

The arrest of Popeye had resulted in a more problematic situation, during which he was fairly certain she had noticed that something was going on. He hadn't even seen her take down the two men, but the thought that she had was affecting him formidably. Splashing cold water on his face in the NCIS bathroom was a poor substitute for the cold shower he sorely needed, and it was hardly doing the job.

He didn't look up when he heard someone enter the bathroom until the bolt on the door clicked loudly. "Hello, Tony."

He was careful to keep his back to Ziva, instead meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Something I can help you with? Directions to the little girls' room, maybe?"

"Oh, Tony. I am actually in here because I think there is something I can help _you_ with." He trembled as she came up behind him, her hand snaking around his hips. He inhaled sharply as she grasped the front of his trousers. "It seems I was right."

"Ziva, please…"

"You do not have to beg."

"This isn't…oh!" He gripped the countertop in front of him as her hand disappeared through his fly, quickly making skin contact. "Why are you…doing this?"

"I thought you may need some relief. I had noticed your situation earlier today. Tell me, Tony," he straightened his spine as she pressed her body against his back, "is there some reason you are so _excited_ today?"

"I…" He thought about asking her to stop, but that didn't seem like a very good idea. He considered telling her the truth, but that seemed like an even worse idea. He settled on a happy moan.

She exerted more pressure and increased the rhythm of her hand. "I thought you would like this. I wonder if there is something you would like more though…"

Before he could turn and accept an offer of office bathroom sex, he heard a noise between a swish and a click. The point of Ziva's switchblade was suddenly pressed into his neck. He looked into the mirror, wondering how she had managed to find the one thing he could possibly find more interesting to do with her hand. At least she hadn't stopped the other thing. "Uhhh…"

"I think the knife is working, yes? I can feel you getting closer."

"It's, uh…uh…uhhhhh…"

"Tony!"

He opened his eyes and pushed back from his desk, not realizing it was the wrong move until Ziva laughed. "I guess that explains the noises you were making. Good dream, yes?"

He scooted his chair forward again, giving his pants time to settle; at least there weren't any visible stains or wet spots on the outside. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"You put your head down and dozed off after Franks left. Gibbs has not come back yet, though."

"But when was that?"

She shrugged. "Half an hour? What were you dreaming about? Or perhaps I should ask _who_ you were dreaming about?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"By all means, go clean up. If you are still feeling frisky we could go to the gym and spar a bit. Or is it only seeing other people go down that gets you up?"

He wasn't able to control the shift in his expression in time for her to miss it. Deciding it might be best to cover it with false bravado, he said, "I'll meet you there and we can find out."

In an eerie reminder of his dream, she opened her switchblade and pointed it at him from across the bullpen. "Hope you brought enough changes of underwear."

"Pants," he corrected inadvertently.


End file.
